The Thinker

Sitting awkwardly
with your right elbow
upon your left knee,
your head resting on your fist.
Your body twisted:
A mound of marble,
you sit.
Fixed to false ideals,
you think.
You think,
and you think,
and you think.
Too much thinking
tempts the mind
to the point that
Action is paralyzed
and incapable of searching
for real connections.
But you think.
Not critically or civilized;
You think savagely.
No care for understanding.
No care for whys or hows.
Happy to rest in fragments
content in bowing down
to the idols and spectral
froms that allure the mind
into false paths.
So focused on these statues,
your own statue
that nothing (not reason,
not evidence) can shake you
from your fixed worship.
Thou shalt not profane, touch,
or question the idols of thought.
So powerful are these idols
that no authority can persuade.
You remain affixed in your gaze
to their luster.
Closed.                Closed.
So closed that action:
active, persistent, and
careful consideration of
any belief of knowledge
is impossible.
No evaluation of past mistakes,
no sensitivity to problems
and finding solutions.
No exploration or testing.
No trying or figuring.
No desire for a full experience.
The experience that elevates us.
Raises us above instinct
and appetite and routine
and animal.
The experience that sets us free;
Makes us human.
But you in your suspended state
have sunk: far, far below.
Less than animal even;
You are stone.
Bound to error.
Mounted to false ways of thinking.
Enslaved.
Dead weight.